


Into The Void

by lixabiz



Category: Doctor Who (2005), Jessica Jones (TV)
Genre: Dimension!Hopping Rose Meets Kilgrave, F/M, Gen, Not Shippy By Any Means, crossover fic, everything goes to hell
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-30
Updated: 2016-02-27
Packaged: 2018-05-17 06:28:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5857684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lixabiz/pseuds/lixabiz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She’s seen monsters, but he’s something different altogether. While hopping across Universes, Rose Tyler stumbles upon Zebediah Kilgrave.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Her right hand slides into her pocket, closing over the cannon and pressing the initiation trigger. It’s almost charged and ready to go. Ten minutes.

That’s when she sees him.

It’s the Doctor in a different suit.

Rose’s heart stops beating for a moment in the salty New York night air. It’s tinged with something not quite right, but she can’t say what that is. When she moves her lips to call out his name, several times to no response, the tight feeling in her stomach turns to lead. Intuition nags at her chest, warring with hope and determination, and she shouts again, with more desperation.

It’s as he turns, slowly, head tilted back, that she realises she’s made a mistake. Her breath stutters, misty vapour forming in the air, and through it she catches his gaze, cold and bored. 

_Not you_ , she instantly thinks, the old despair settling in again, briefly overriding the creeping sense of disquiet rising in her chest _._

“Oh. What have we here?” 

The voice, though. The voice is _his._ It hits her like a shockwave. Rose inhales, staggering, forcing herself to stay calm. The man wearing her Doctor’s face and using her Doctor’s voice studies her. 

“Weeell, the blonde’s a bit brassy, but the mouth is rather nice. Cheekbones, too.”

He says, suddenly- “Smile.”

Her lips curve involuntarily, stretching into a position they’ve been in a thousand times before, never as unnatural as they feel now, in this moment.

“Not bad,” he murmurs, taking three slow steps around her, “I was getting a bit bored, could use the company. What’s your name?”

“Rose Tyler.”

“A fellow brit!” An expression of surprise and vaguely delight flitters over his face. “How exciting. Londoner, are you?”

“Yeah,” she says.

“Come here.”

She approaches him. She doesn’t want to, but she does, feet moving of their own accord, crunching over asphalt and snow.

“Lovely name, for a lovely girl. Rose Tyler.”

The way he says her name - it’s wrong and she wishes she hadn’t told him. He smiles. It’s utterly charming and grotesque.

He lifts her hand, the free one, cold fingers grazing her palm. Soot and ash rubs off onto his pristine fingers. Those eyes flicker with distaste, and then curiosity. “You’ve been in an accident, Rose?”

“I’ve been hopping.” The bit of terminology - slang, Mickey’s - slips past her lips. The skin on her hand crawls. She can’t pull it free.

In her pocket, the cannon pulses and beeps. Her heart kicks into gear, adrenalin coursing madly through her veins.

_Ten-_

“Hopping,” he repeats thoughtfully, shaping his mouth around the word and regarding her with a kind of intensity that invokes the Doctor as much as it repels. “Hopping. What’s hopping, I wonder? You’ll tell me later.”

His thumbnail scrapes across her knuckles, sending unpleasant shivers down her spine. She can’t move. A long silence endures as he stares unblinkingly at her, thinking.

_nine-_

_eight-_

Then, abruptly, he speaks again. “You’re cold and you’d like to go get a drink.”

_seven-_

“I’d like to go get a drink,” says Rose, ice flooding her veins. She trembles.

“I know a great club, nice atmosphere, fabulous ‘85 Romanee-Conti Domaine, you’ll love it.”

_six-_

“What is that you’re holding? In your pocket?”

_five-_

She can’t hold back the answer. She just _can’t._ “It’s a dimension cannon. I’m using it to hop across different worlds. I’m looking for the Doctor.”

Rose wants to throw up.

_four-_

The smile spreads across his face again. “A dimension cannon! What’s a dimension cannon? Never mind. Tell me at the bar.”

_three-_

“No. I’ve changed my mind. Give it to me,” he says, and every cell of her body begins to tremble with fear and dread and the urge to scream. “Now.”

Rose reaches into the lined pocket of her leather jacket, the singed sleeve rasping in the silence. _No, no, no_ , but she’s already pulling it out, presenting it in the palm of her hand, sweat accumulating in the life lines like a drowned map - this can’t be where the journey ends, it can’t be, not with this man who looks like the Doctor, who can _control_ her with his voice…

_two-_

“Dirty thing,” he comments with a sneer, but he reaches for it, both hands touching hers as the countdown completes.

The world vanishes around them both.


	2. Chapter 2

Rose comes to slow and achingly, as if underwater.

_I’m alive._

The thought is galvanizing, even though every single bone and muscle in her body hurts from the rough landing. Just breathing alone is as difficult as quantum physics, but still. She’s alive and that’s good enough for now.

Rose coughs, head pounding, and the movement makes her aware of a sweetly acidic scent in the air. Dark green berries, crushed under her body - she’s lying on a small, prickly bush of some kind. Probably poisonous.

Rose blinks furiously to clear her blurred vision, forcing herself to survey her surroundings and take stock of the situation. Patchy soil stretches as far as the eye can see, dry as salted rock. Mountaintops stand in the distance, dark and oppressive and grey. Alien.

 _You’ve been in worse_ , she thinks, and it’s not a  particularly consoling thought, but it’ll do. Rose tests herself, twitching fingers and toes. All intact. Nothing broken - just sore, sore, sore. She’s going to be bruised for days, lost and alone in a barren wasteland.

She lifts her head.

No. Not alone.

It starts suddenly, a whimper rather than a bang, but it grows, louder and louder, cutting through the silence and confusion. _Run_ , her insides clamour immediately, instinct racing ahead of memory and coherency. The screams are unbearable, like a dying animal’s.

It hurts like hell, but Rose gets to her feet, dazed, and limps across the half-dead grass to stand over his prone figure. He’s fainted by the time she reaches him, and it’s clear he’s in a very bad way.

The man from the alley. The man who looks like the Doctor. The impossible man.

Rose remembers the blinding flash, the sensory overload, and the dangerous feeling of tearing through to another dimension with an uncalibrated second body. The disturbing moments before the hop trickle back into her memory, too, and she looks away, inhaling sharply.

 _I told him my name,_ she thinks. _He asked, and I just told him, like it was nothing._

If there’s one thing she’s learned during her travels with the Doctor, and after him, it’s that it’s better not to say anything at all. One word in the wrong place can change an entire causal nexus, destroy entire worlds.

She’s broken her own rule.

No, that isn’t right.

_He made me. He made me tell him my name, and he made me tell him about the dimension cannon and the Doctor._

His powers, whatever they are… she’s never known anything like it. She’s seen monsters, but he’s something different altogether. He’s dangerous. She remembers what he tried to do to her, the control he’s capable of… it gives her chills.

But right now, at least, she’s safe from him. He can’t give orders if he’s unconscious. Or dead.

Rose checks for a pulse, just in case. He’s still breathing. There’s a burn mark on his left cheek, and his clothes are charred - but his leg is in even worse condition. It’s broken, badly, and bent at an unnatural angle in more than one place. Through the fabric of his torn trousers Rose can see something protruding. She sucks in an appalled breath, not surprised he passed out from the mere sight of it.

The dimension cannon is in pieces. She searches for the broken parts and collects them in her pocket, though she isn’t sure why she bothers. She doesn’t know how to fix it.

Rose grits her teeth and forces herself to remain calm. Panic threatens to overwhelm her, but she dials it back, schools her emotions into submission.

First - find civilization. Food. Shelter. The dimension cannon is broken, but it’s possible she doesn’t need it anymore. This could be the right Universe. Maybe this one is the one with the Doctor in it. She needs to survive, in order to find him. It’s optimistic thinking of the highest order, but these days that’s pretty much all Rose has to go on.

In the distance, a faint coil of something misty rises from the side of a mountain. It might simply be a cloud formation, or gas emissions, or a slowly erupting volcano. But it might be smoke. It’s her only option.

Rose looks at the mountains, and then at the horizon. The vast expanse before her is broken only by the occasional snarled plantation - rootlike trees, bent like grey skeletons. She looks down at the unconscious body at her feet.

He’ll die. There’s absolutely no doubt. If she leaves him here, he’ll die.

She knows she doesn’t have a choice.

—–

He’s a dead weight around her shoulders, made worse by the oddly dense atmosphere and oppressive gravity. Rose feels heavy and so does he. His head lolls against her neck as she drags him along, hoping she isn’t doing further damage to his leg.

Somewhere in the vicinity of two hours since she began the trek, he wakes. Disorientation makes him shudder and thrash against her, which is short-lived thanks to his horrific injury. They have to stop. The agony of limping on a broken leg isn’t endurable. He’s in too much pain.

Rose tries to set him down gently, but it isn’t easy. He collapses with a pained grunt against the base of a gnarled tree-like plant. She follows him, his trajectory imbalancing her already precarious, exhausted state, and very nearly trips over him. She catches herself just in time, meeting his unflinching gaze, red-rimmed, blazing with barely restrained fury. It makes her blood run cold, that look. The Doctor’s never looked like that.

She reminds herself: He’s _not_ the Doctor.

Still, he’s shivering, soaked through his shirt and jacket with sweat. Through the wet layers she can feel his ribs, and the uneven, laboured breath. One pulse. Flimsy, human. His broken leg splays out, still bent, and a darker wet patch on his trousers tells her it’s bleeding.

His eyes flutter shut. Panic wells up inside her.

“Oi-” She slaps his face to keep him awake. “Don’t sleep.”

He opens his eyes and glares at her.

“Talk to me,” she says. “You need to stay awake. What’s your name? Tell me your name.”

“Kilgrave.”

“Kilgrave,” she repeats. “Got a first name?”

He ignores her in favour of panting and cursing under his breath.

“Fine. Just Kilgrave, then. Where’d you grow up? I’m from London. You? Sound a bit posh. Mummy and Daddy rich, then? Mine is. Well, he is nowadays. Sort of. It’s complicated.”

He hasn’t said a word. Rose slaps him again, which earns her a second death glare. Talking is difficult for him, but with effort he manages, “Tell me-”

“What? Tell you what? Hey-”

“-H-how-”

He’s gone pale, and sweat drips down his brows into his eyes.

“How what?” Rose asks, stubbornly.

“H-how we- got- h-here.”

He doesn’t look good. Rose swallows, fighting back the urge to weep. He won’t last the night, she knows. He shivers, violent tremors racking his body, the trauma too great for his single human heart to handle. He’ll die, and he won’t wake up with a different face.

“We hopped. Remember? I’ve got a device, a dimension cannon. It transports people through different worlds by ripping holes in the walls between parallel universes. It was invented by Torchwood. To save the world. To find the Doctor. My Doctor. ”

She tells him. _Alien. Traveller. All of time and space._ What does it matter? He’s a dying man. And part of her, the weakest, loneliest part, rejoices at the opportunity to talk of the Doctor, to reaffirm his existence.

“I bet you’re wondering, what’s she on about? How? Well, the TARDIS. His ship. Time And Relative Dimension In Space. It’s bigger on the inside. It really is. Amazing the first time you see it. No, no, don’t, you mustn’t - Kilgrave. Don’t-”

He’s out. She tries, vainly, to shake him awake by the shoulders, but it’s no use. She sits still, listening to his slow breathing, waiting for it to peter out and cease. Waiting to be alone with a corpse. It won’t be the first time.

But it doesn’t happen that way.

Kilgrave doesn’t die. Miraculously, he lives. And stupidly, naively, Rose is glad.

—–

Hours after he wakes, Kilgrave watches  expressionlessly as Rose approaches him with a broken tree branch.

She says, with dread, “I’m going to set your leg.”

Ten minutes later, brow drenched and panting, Rose swallows down the bile at the back of her throat and stands, lurching slightly with nausea. “There. Done.”

Kilgrave is just as badly affected as she is - more so, but he’s still conscious. The pain must have been intolerable, Rose thinks, simultaneously awed and frightened by his strength. The sheer force of will he possesses… it’s unbelievable.

He beckons her towards him, palm outstretched. She crouches by his side and takes his hand, wondering if he wants to thank her or just needs the comfort.

Neither, it turns out. Rose screams, but he’s got her. She shoves with all her might, knocking him flat, and scrambles away from him, shocked. Her hand drips blood onto the ground, perfectly shaped imprints of teeth cutting the flesh of her palm almost to the bone.

He’s a bloody fucking psychopath, that’s what he is. Rose stares back and forth between her hand and at Kilgrave’s pale face.

“Do that again,” she says unsteadily, trying to insert steel into her voice, “-and I’ll dump your arse in a gravelly ditch. Plenty of those about.”

Kilgrave laughs. He shudders and licks his lips, managing to mutter, “Tasted awful, anyway,” before drifting off.

Rose bandages her hand with the shredded remains of her vest top and watches him with a growing sense of wariness. She wonders if she’s made the right decision.

_I brought him here. It’s my fault._

—–

Things only get worse.

Her stamina begins to wane by the second. Every step begins to feel like torture. Her lungs don’t seem to want to work, and the weak light of whatever burning star keeps this godforsaken wasteland barely alive feels like scorching heat on her face and throat. The leather of her jacket is like sandpaper against her bare stomach and ribs.

Kilgrave seems to sense her growing weakness, and is agitated by it. The world narrows to nothing but the harrowing sense of putting one foot before the other, bearing his weight - a noose - and dragging herself into a distant, vast emptiness.

She’s so, so, so thirsty. Her eyes don’t seem to work the way they’re supposed to, and her mouth feels swollen. Her hand feels like it’s on fire.

She simply can’t, any longer.

When finally she collapses, taking him with her down to the rocky soil beneath their feet, it feels like an embargo has lifted. Rose faints, blissfully, into silence that doesn’t last.

A roaring like the end of the world brings her back.

Kilgrave is shouting. He’s practically apoplectic. Rose barely comprehends what he’s saying. His attention is split between a massive creature looming over him and the shrill buzz of the floating vehicle behind it. His eyes dart from the weapon being pointed in their direction to the shimmering exhaust of the engine and back to the creature’s helmet.

The creature takes a step towards them, reaching out with one bulky arm. Kilgrave takes a step back, hands lifting in surrender, but it doesn’t shoot. It holds out something small in one gloved hand.

A strange and tinny voice emerges from the creature’s palm-

“Zone 4, can you hear me? Zone 4, this is Ward B, Sergeant Earling speaking, do you copy? I repeat, do you copy?”


	3. Chapter 3

The next time Rose is conscious, she’s in hospital. She wakes up in a sterile white room with white curtains and a blue chair. Someone’s sat in it, someone who makes her heart lurch in her chest. Disbelief and joy fills her to the brim.

_This must be a dream._ She’s had it before. Never in this setting, but that’s okay. Sometimes she thinks it’s the only thing that keeps her going.

The Doctor smiles down at her. “Rose.”

His voice. His face. Tears prick at her eyes. She tries to speak, tries to say, _I thought I’d never see you again_ , but her mouth doesn’t want to work. Her throat aches and throbs.

“About time,” he says, carelessly brushing a stray hair off her face. His hand feels different, his touch rougher than she remembers. “Six days and a half. _Felt_ like forever - I was starting to get impatient.”

Something’s wrong. Rose blinks up at him uncertainly.

The Doctor shakes his head. “They put you in emergency stasis. You got infected by - they call it waste virus, talk about unimaginative - though I can’t for the life of me figure out how that happened. It’s contracted through _berries_ or something ridiculous like that-”

He scoffs, sitting back in the blue chair and shifting his leg to a more comfortable position. The movement is encumbered - she looks down, confused, and then the penny drops. She can feel her heart start to break all over again, as it does each time she wakes up and the Doctor disappears.

But it’s not a dream. The Doctor isn’t in the room. Kilgrave sits in the chair beside her, and he’s _very_ real.

He’s clean. He’s changed his suit for crisp white patient scrubs. His hair is brushed. There’s a heavy white cast on his leg. And they’re alone. Rose can hardly bear to look at him, bitterness swallowing her whole.

“They didn’t think you’d make it. But here you are.” Kilgrave gives her an admiring look. “Truly remarkable. I’ve never met anyone like you before.”

A huge grin splits his face.

“Guess. Guess what year it is. Go on.” He bounces in his seat and doesn’t wait for her to answer. There’s an air of unbridled glee in his tone. “2735! And they’ve still got nuns running hospitals in war zones. Imagine!” He chuckles. “Nothing changes.”

2735\. Rose swallows, closes her eyes. He’s still talking, filling the room with that haunting, mocking voice. Her head pounds and she feels nauseous. Nothing makes sense.

“I thought - mentally imbalanced, hallucinations, maybe a government lackey escaped from some dreadful experimental program on the lam with a teleportation device - but you… you were utterly serious. Every single word of it - the truth. _You_ ,” he pauses, savouring the word, “-are literally out of this world.”

He’s giddy.

“I mean, time travel! _Actual_ time travel. And space, I haven’t forgot about the space - it’s just incredible!”

There’s a shuffling at the door. It happens so quickly, Rose barely has time to recoil. He’s got too firm of a grip on her arms, and without warning, she feels his mouth clamp over hers. Kilgrave tastes like mint, and something else, slightly sweet and sickly. His eyes are open, watching her.

Someone enters the room. It’s a nurse, wearing a frown. “Stop that now, please. Your wife needs her rest.”

Kilgrave tenses, fingers twitching against her jaw. His thumbnail presses into the vulnerable skin under her neck, a faint, invasive pressure. But he lets the kiss linger, making a show of pulling away reluctantly. He swipes his tongue along her bottom lip as he withdraws - Rose barely registers it. All she can hear in her head is: _your wife._

Rose thinks, _I am going mad. This is a nightmare. I have to wake up._

“You know the rules. One hour, each day, no more.”

“She just woke up,” he says slowly, and dimly, in the back of her head, she registers that he’s not a good actor. Someone who can control others with a single word wouldn’t need to be. Petulance creeps into his voice. “She’s been out cold for ages! Surely that’s-”

“There’s a long recovery period for waste virus patients,” the nurse replies firmly. “The strain is tenacious and can flare up repeatedly - jump hosts, even. She needs more time to recuperate. Alone.”

Kilgrave’s expression doesn’t change, not even for a fraction of a second, but Rose can tell he’s not pleased. “She needs me by her side!”

The nurse doesn’t budge. “No, she doesn’t. For your own safety.”

Something about the exchange is off, but Rose is too dizzy to figure out what it is. Something about his reaction, and the nurse’s response…

“Look, she’s drifting off, the poor thing. You’ll be more comfortable in your own room, sir, and your wife will be safe here until she’s fully restored.”

Rose closes her eyes, allowing herself to be taken out of Kilgraves reach and laid down onto the soft pillow. She can hear him mutter,  “Yes. Yes, of course. You’re absolutely right. I’ll let you rest, darling.”

She feels him bend to kiss her forehead. It feels cold, impersonal. “I’ll be back soon. We’re safe now, love. You and me.”

—–

Rose stays in an isolated emergency ward for two more days, gradually gaining her strength back. Kilgrave is her only visitor. He shows up twice. Rose is ill enough each time for her nurse, Sister Lucia, to refuse him entry.

She’s not so lucky the third time.

He looks so much like the Doctor, sitting by her bed. Rose finds the similarity mesmerising despite herself. It’s the first time since she encountered him that she’s had a chance to observe, really observe him, without the imminent shadow of death looming over them. He’s a flipped image of the man she loves, inverted, skewed - and Rose is frightened to consider what that means. _No_ , she tells herself. Not every universe has a Rose Tyler. Not every universe has a Doctor. Kilgrave is just a fluke. A cosmic joke. He has to be.

He’s begun to affect a false cheeriness that grates at her. After each increasingly inane speech, he waits for her to respond and grows more impatient with her silence. His smile never falters, but his tone becomes wheedling.

“Oh come on. I feel like I’m talking to a wall, here. Don’t you want to know where we are? How we got here?” He pauses. “Answer me.”

Nothing happens. She stays still, motionless, not compelled to do… anything. Rose counts to ten. Twenty. Fifty.

“Say _something_.”

She doesn’t. Her gaze locks on his. He looks back at her, expression unbothered, and shrugs. “You were bound to find out sooner or later. Yes, it’s true. I seem to have lost my powers. Different universe, different rules, I suppose. Inconvenient.”

She understands, then, what this is about. The story, the lies - it’s all for control. He’s lost it, and so he’s taking whatever he can, in whatever form. She’s known Kilgrave for mere days but even she can tell he’s not the sort to take such a loss in stride.

“Which,” he continues in a tone of voice that implies he’s being perfectly reasonable, “-is why I feel we need to work together. To survive this predicament we’ve found ourselves in. After all, you owe me.”

Her disbelief is plastered over her face.

“Yes, you do. You took me from my home, unwillingly. I could’ve died, and now I’m stranded. You definitely owe me.”

She swallows. “What do you want?”

“Oh, she deigns to speak at last!”

Rose repeats, carefully, “What do you want?”

“Same as you, I’d imagine.”

Rose is pretty sure that’s not the case, but she doesn’t argue.

Kilgrave goes on to say, “Lucky for you, I made them give me your clothing after they put you into stasis. I’ve got your device, the dimension cannon. It’s safe.”

“It’s broken,” Rose corrects him, a feeling of unease washing over her.

“It’s 2735,” he drawls in a quiet voice. “They can fix it. But not if I toss it into the incinerator down the hall from my own ward. ”

It’s a long-shot, but she can’t give up even the tiniest chance the dimension cannon might be repaired. It’s her only way back to the Doctor. She doesn’t have a choice.

“You don’t want that. You’ve still got to find this Doctor of yours. I know I was pretty out of it, but I do remember that bit. He’s important to you. You even dream of him.”

Futile rage bubbles up inside Rose. She exhales shakily. There’s nothing she can do.

“Lost lover?” he queries, as if he isn’t in the midst of blackmailing her.

“None of your business,” Rose says flatly.

“Touchy subject, I see. Regardless, let’s get business out of the way. I’ve told them you’re my wife. We’re on our honeymoon, decided to drop in on this part of the planet to volunteer during this difficult climate. It was your idea. You’re very giving. Our transport crashed, and we lost contact with our families.”

He pauses at her expression, and demands, peevishly, “Well, have you got a better cover-up story? How else are we going to explain how two unrelated civilians came to be stranded in the middle of a war zone? We can’t tell them the truth - they’ll lock us up, or worse - turn us into guinea pigs. Painful tests. Biopsies. Tissue samples.”

Something cold creeps into his voice, tempered by a mild smile. “Trust me, you don’t want that to happen.”

He’s forced out shortly after that by her nurse.

Rose’s options are limited. Kilgrave is right, in a way. She does owe him. She’ll take him back to his home Universe, once she figures out how to wrestle the device from his hands and get it to work again. She’ll find a nice secluded mental asylum and leave him there.

“You’re not well enough to be discharged just yet,” Sister Lucia tells her when Rose asks how much longer she has to stay.

She chuckles at Rose’s despairing expression. “Chin up. It could be worse. You’re recovering very quickly for someone with such a severe infection - you could’ve died. Besides, there aren’t any holos leaving Zone 4 until the fifteenth of next month. Where would you go, if you left now? You may be recovered enough to move out of the emergency ward the day after tomorrow, but you’ll have to stay for observation. We take waste virus cases very seriously.”

Rose nods, hiding her misery and discontent on the inside.

“He’s doing very well,” she adds, and for a moment Rose has no idea who she means. “Up in the Hospital lending archive everyday, reading his eyes out. Such a bookworm, he is. Keeps to himself, when he’s not trying to sneak in to see you - except for that incident the other day.”

“What incident?”

“Oh, nothing. An accident.” Sister Lucia chatters some more, making small talk. “What does he do, your husband?”

Rose looks blankly at her. “Pardon?”

“You know - his job? What he does for a living?”

She opens her mouth, and then closes it. “S-sorry, I’m not feeling very good-”

“You’re tired out from the treatment, that’s normal.”

Sister Lucia pats her hand. Her smile is kind. The warmth of it penetrates Rose in a way she hasn’t known in a long time, and she’s suddenly reminded of her mum. Mum, who she hasn’t seen in months. Mum, whose last memory of her is a retreating back, the same answer to a painful, always unspoken question - _aren’t we enough?_

“Take a nap, dear, I’ll be back in a few hours to give you the next dose.”

The door closes, leaving Rose alone again. A sharp pang in her chest forces her eyes closed, but sleep doesn’t come. She’s not sure it ever will.


	4. Chapter 4

Rose has lived through strange circumstances and in even stranger places, but right now life seems more surreal than ever.

She’s in a wheelchair, one she doesn’t need, but Kilgrave insists. It makes a wonderful tableau, he tells her. A loving husband pushing his lovely wife around. Everyone will be touched by the sight. It’s becoming clear to Rose that he’s certifiable. Maybe he’s always been crazy. Maybe crash-landing through the void knocked whatever remaining screws left in his head loose. That’s a distinct possibility, in Rose’s opinion.

“You should be in the wheelchair,” she says, wondering if she ought to pity him or tell Sister Lucia to have him evaluated for mental psychosis. “You’re the one with the broken leg.”

“Oh, I’m perfectly fine. Medicine is incredible these days. A broken leg, healed in two weeks.” He shakes his head in wonder. “I was born in the wrong century.”

“ _Mrs. Kilgrave!_ ” says an approaching hospital attendant, interrupting whatever Kilgrave is going to say next.  

It takes Rose several moments to comprehend that the young woman is speaking to her, and not someone else. Gooseflesh rises unpleasantly on her skin as the moniker sinks in. She can feel Kilgrave radiating pleasure at her back. 

“You really should return to your room, you’re due for your next treatment! Sister Lucia will be cross,” the attendant adds, fretfully. “I’ll be in trouble.”

“Well, we wouldn’t want that,” says Kilgrave, smiling down at her. He turns the shiny golden wheelchair around in the direction they came from, and bends to speak into Rose’s ear. “We’d better take you back, hadn’t we?”

He winks at the attendant. The girl blushes, charmed by him. When they’ve returned to Rose’s room and Kilgrave is finally out of sight, she says with a touch of admiration, “He’s so very handsome, isn’t he?”

Handsomely deranged, maybe. Sister Lucia sweeps past, a syringe in hand. She swabs at Rose’s shoulder with a cotton pad.

“You didn’t eat anything, did you? You’re weren’t supposed to-”

“No.” She hasn’t got much of an appetite, these days.

“I was surprised, though,” the attendant says thoughtfully, folding a stack of towels. I thought it would be much worse.”

“What?” Sister Lucia frowns, and gives Rose her injection. It stings.

“They’ve been whispering about it in the lounges, but it was nothing! He’s got a tiny bandage on his cheek, that’s all.”

This catches Rose’s attention. She’d noticed the small covering on his face, but hadn’t cared enough to ask.  “What do you mean?”

Sister Lucia shoots the girl a quelling look, and turns to Rose, a guilty expression on her face. “Oh dear. I wasn’t supposed to say anything - it’s a sensitive situation. But seeing as it happened to your husband… I suppose you have a right to know about it.”

Her attention is definitely caught. “What happened?”

“He had a run-in with one of our long-term patients in the Library, and… well, I’m not sure what they said to each other, exactly, but Mr. Kilgrave was attacked. Rather shocking. We even had to sedate the old brute to get him to let your husband go.”

Rose frowns. “He was attacked?”

“He’s fine,” Sister Lucia assures her, taking Rose’s silence for wifely concern. “Just a shallow cut on his cheek, nothing we couldn’t fix with a dermal regenerator. Good as new.”

“Why would anyone attack him? What was he doing?”

“Nothing, as far as I know. The General must have mistaken him for someone else.”

Rose asks sharply, “Did he say who?”

“Hmm?”

“Who he was mistaken for?” Something clenches in her stomach, hot and roiling. “Who did he think Kil-my husband was?”

“One of the Doctors, I think,” says the attendant, eager to spread the tale. “He was shouting about his Doctor. Very strange. Mr. Kilgrave looks nothing like anyone on staff here.”

The surrealism increases, drowning her in a sort of melancholic, undiluted fatigue.

When she first met Pete in his alternate universe, and _that_ Jackie, they’d felt familiar, even if they weren’t _her_ Pete and Jackie. There was a connection, as if Rose’s absence from their lives had been felt by them. A void, aching to be filled. Kilgrave is a void, too. Like negative space, coalesced into something unnatural.

She’s never come across another Rose Tyler, and she’s never come across another Doctor. They are, as far as her growing cache of evidence suggests, uniquely singular. So if someone in this world, on this planet, saw Kilgrave and thought he was someone else - which _must_ be what happened, because how could _anyone_ recognize him? - that can only mean one thing.

One astronomically incredible, unlikely, fantastic, mind-boggling thing.

—–

“I know,” Kilgrave says upon receiving a look from Sister Lucia when he comes back later that afternoon to visit her, “I won’t misbehave.”

Sister Lucia leaves them alone, but pointedly tells Kilgrave not to do anything that may _exert_ Rose. The memory of being kissed makes Rose feel on edge, but she tampers it down. She contemplates asking him directly about the attack, but doubt holds her back. They may be stranded together, but he’s not trustworthy. He’s working against her, to his own mysterious ends, and she isn’t stupid enough to reveal her own plans.

So, instead, she asks, “What do you do?”

“What do I do?” he echoes.

“The nurse asked me. What you do for a living.”

“Ah. Tell her… I don’t know… finance. Real estate. Yes, that sounds good. You’re an interior designer. We fit.”

“What do you really do?”

He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Are you showing interest in me, at last?”

The question takes her aback, slightly, but she simply shrugs. “Just curious.”

“Nothing as exciting as your lifestyle, I can tell you that much. I get on. Travel. Enjoy what New York has to offer.”

“You’re taking this well,” says Rose.

“What?”

“Everything. Waking up in a different universe. Losing your powers.”

“Oh yes. Harrowing, to say the least.”

His statement rubs her the wrong way. He’s too complacent, too at ease with everything that’s happened since the moment they met. Adjusting _too_ well by half, Rose thinks, regarding him with careful consideration. It occurs to her that perhaps he’s taken a liking to life in 2735 and is happy to stay. Which presents a problem she hadn’t considered - does he know too much, now?

Going back isn’t easy. She’s been there before, and knows firsthand how unsettling is it. The loss of the Doctor hurts, but the loss of that way of life - of adventure and excitement and seeing new horizons and people - it can’t be described. It changes you, knowing the future. It makes you different, set apart from the rest.

“It’s exciting,” he adds as an afterthought. “A great big  adventure.”

_Soon to come to an end_ , Rose hopes, opting to disregard her concerns. Someone like Kilgrave adapts, survives. She casts her mind to something more important: forming a plan for what she has to do next.

—–

The library is mostly empty. Rose spots the General right away.

He has the air of a large man who has shriveled, his shrunken back slouched over a table in a quiet corner. He’s alone. Rose walks over to him, her plan simple, uncomplicated. She’s just going to strike up a conversation.

“Good book?” she asks.

He raises his head, says slowly, “The best.”

He studies her, and seems to like what he sees. Older men, lonely men, they’ve always got a weak spot for young women. Even Timelords, in her experience, are no exception.

“Poetry,” she notes, seeing the lines of a stanza on the screen of his reader.

“The epic kind,” he replies, with an indulgent smile. “So. What are you in here for?”

“Waste virus. You?”

“Oh, I’m not a patient. They call me that, but this is my prison.” His eyes bore into hers. “You’re not so young you wouldn’t recognize me.”

“I know who you are.”

Something changes in his expression. “You came to talk to me for a reason.”

“I’ve heard the stories.” Rose takes a deep breath. “I wanted to ask you something. I heard you attacked another patient the other day.”

His nose flares, anger lighting in his gaze. “So I did. What of it?”

“I want to know why. What happened?”

He doesn’t answer. He stares at her, a hulking granite statue of a man, and straightens in his seat, shoulders broad and powerful. Rose doesn’t back down. She’s faced Daleks and lived.

“I want to know if you attacked him because you thought he was someone else.”

She isn’t prepared for what happens next. For a second, there’s silence between them. The General lifts his hand, hovers it over his reader. Then he slams it down and sends the flat device soaring across the room, startling her.

Rose leaps to her feet, narrowly getting out of the way as the General explodes into a fit of rage. He knocks his chair away, grasps the edge of the table, and _throws_ it.

“Holy Father in Heaven!” exclaims a nearby Librarian, looking horrified. “Guards! Where are his guards? Someone-

A melee breaks out, people come storming into the room, and through the noise of splintering wood and crashing books, the General starts roaring.

“I was a _hero_. I led armies the size of continents! Then he showed up and ruined everything I worked to build! He destroyed my cities, led my enemies to my door, killed my _family_ -”

He’s uncontrollable. Rose watches, frozen, as a guard runs up to him and is sent crashing to the floor with the back of one hand.

“My son. My nephews. All of them, gone, executed. My men, slaughtered!”

Not without reason, Rose wants to say, but she holds her tongue. Her visit is a mistake. Sister Lucia called him a long-term patient… she’d taken that as a sign of a terminal illness, that he is a weak or dying man. Under his robust exterior she can see evidence of something more troubling than mere disease. It’s madness, driven by loss and sorrow.

“The Doctor is nothing but a coward, and a cheat-” spits the former General, as two burly attendants wrestle him away from her. “If I ever see him or that father again, _I will strangle their necks with my bare hands!”_

He’s still shouting as they strap him down into a chair, hurling abuse and violent curses at her.

“I’m sorry,” she says. What else is there to say?

Shaking violently, Rose slips away, back to her room. Her hands tremble as she reaches the elevators. How many regimes has she had a direct hand in toppling? How many people whose lives have been destroyed by her, completely, without a backwards glance? Clean-up has never been a part of the Doctor’s routine. But rightly so. He’s got to move on, always, as fast as he can, in order to do what he does.

But she knows, now. It’s irrefutable.

The Doctor was here.

Ambivalence fills her rather than elation. She can’t quite understand why she feels this way. After all, she’s hopped into worlds where major events and turning points seemed to indicate his presence, made her hopeful only to never result in anything concrete. Until now. She should be over the moon. The odds are just stacked so highly against her - one Doctor, in all the infinite Universes. How could it ever be easy?

Yet, of all the near misses she’s had before, this one feels the most devastating.

_Where are you, Doctor?_


	5. Chapter 5

There’s someone in her room when Rose returns from the library.

A figure in the darkness, emerging from the shadowy corner. She’s aware of it immediately. Whoever her visitor is, they’ve done a poor job of covering signs of their presence. The door is ajar. All her concerns about Sister Lucia frantically searching for her evaporate, leaving pure alarm to creep through her.

Her first thought is - Kilgrave. He’s noticed her absence, has come to dole out some more of his madness. But then she sees the face, and it’s one she doesn’t recognize.

“My name is Malcolm Taylor,” the man says in a hushed voice, lifting both palms in her direction - the universal gesture of no harm. “I’ve been looking for you, Agent Tyler.”

Her heartbeat quickens. “Who are you?”

“Sorry, you don’t know who I am, of course. I’m jumping ahead of myself - I’m a scientific advisor for Torchwood. New recruit. Came highly recommended by UNIT, you might be familiar with them.” He looks at her earnestly, hoping for confirmation.

Rose blinks, and allows herself to lower her guard a cautious fraction of an inch. “Heard of ‘em, yeah.”

“Indeed. I must confess, I’ve alway wanted to meet you - a true companion! One of the very best, too, if you don’t mind my saying. I’m a huge admirer. Of the Doctor’s, I mean. And your’s, of course.”

He’s babbling. Rose might find this endearing usually, but now isn’t the time. “How-,” she asks, still stunned, “How did you find me?”

“I followed a hunch, you see. The Director sent a team after you - you haven’t checked in for months, and your cannon was faulty five jumps ago. We’ve been monitoring your progress. Your biosignature went beserk- what happened?”

“I thought you were-” she breaks off the sentence, shaking her head.

Malcolm looks apologetic. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“S’alright.”

“I’m glad you’re safe. We’ve been worried. Mickey and Jake are in New York where you landed last, searching for you. There was a witness, a homeless man who saw you disappear with another man - they showed him a picture of the Doctor, and he confirmed…”

Malcolm trails off, his smile fading as Rose shakes her head vehemently.

“He’s not the Doctor.”

“But-”

“He just looks like him-”

Excitement perks his features. “An alternate version of the Doctor?”

“No.”

“But-”

“He’s not the Doctor,” Rose says, cutting him off. “He’s not.”

“Right.” Malcolm regards her with palpable curiosity. He’s dying to ask, to know more, but he’s got enough sense not to push the subject, however, and takes her assessment at face value. “You’d know best, I’m sure. If he’s not the Doctor, then we should leave this dimension immediately. I’ve brought a spare uncalibrated model with me, we just need to attach your biosignature to it and-”

“I can’t leave.”

“-and we can be off just as soon as I contact Torchwood to let them know you’re safe.”

“I said I can’t leave.”

He looks at her, astonished. “Why not?”

“This is the right dimension. The Doctor was here.”

“Truly?” Malcolm looks at her, his eyes shining with hope and wonder. She feels a little of it transfer over onto herself, the rush of joy and exhilaration of finally, finally landing in the right place - if not the right time - hitting her at last.

This is the closest she’s ever come. Almost within reach. This is _good_.

“Yes.” She feels a smile spread across her face, and she reaches out to clasp his hand and squeeze it.

“That’s wonderful,” he says fervently, his eyes growing wet with emotion. “That’s just- wonderful.”

“You go back. I’ll find the Doctor.”

“I could help you,” he begins, but she shakes her head. There’s something else she needs Malcolm to do. It’s almost a relief, to know she can rely on someone else to deal with him.

_Kilgrave._

“No, I want you to do something for me. Go back and tell them what’s happened. The man I brought here, his name is Kilgrave. He’s not normal.”

“How so?”

“He has powers. He can control people with his mind. I know it sounds mad, but it’s - look, it’s a long story. Torchwood will want to know about him.”

“Is he dangerous?”

She hesitates, tracing the invisible scar on her palm where he bit her. Not right now, he isn’t. Different dimension, different rules. But once she takes him back…

“Yes,” she says.

Malcolm nods. “I’ll do my best, ma’am. I’ll find out everything I can about Kilgrave.” He presses the spare dimension cannon into her hand. “Take this.”

“Ta.” Rose bites her lip. After a pause, she blurts out, “Can you do me another favour?”

“Anything.”

“Tell the Director- tell him to tell my Mum I’m fine.”

Malcolm gives her hand another squeeze. “I will.”

—–

General Relsom mentioned a father. The question is, _whose_?

Rose mulls over this over the course of the next day, through multiple rounds of antibiotics and injections. The Doctor may have found a new companion to travel with, but she can’t picture him bringing a family on board. Far too domestic.

Word of her stunt gets back to Lucia, as it was wont to do. She gets a fair scolding and feels oddly like a small child being reprimanded by a primary teacher.

“What in Heaven’s name possessed you to seek him out?”

“He seemed fine, at first, until-”

“He’s good at pretending,” Sister Lucia sighs. “But he’s a war criminal at heart, and ought to be executed for what he’s done. You’re lucky he didn’t hurt you.”

“I’m sorry,” Rose says meekly, lowering her gaze. She asks, with a deliberately anxious tone, “Does - does my husband know about it?”

The nurse’s face softens. “No. I know you must have been worried about him, but it was a foolish thing to do. Relsom is dangerous, no matter what anyone says.”

“Please don’t tell him. I don’t want him to be upset.”

“I won’t,” says Sister Lucia, patting her hand. “He came to visit earlier, but I had to send him away. He said he’d come back in the evening to sit with you before bedtime.”

She’ll stick her fingers down her throat and make herself vomit, Rose decides, to keep Kilgrave out. She needs time to think and plan, without his meddling. She can’t deal with his bullshit right now, not when she’s got an actual trail that may lead to the Doctor. The idea leaves her feeling dizzy with potential.

“It’s wonderful to see two young married people so devoted to one another. Especially in times like these. I hope you’ll be able to go home soon and start your life together…”

_When hell freezes over,_ Rose thinks, and tunes out of the conversation. Her eye falls on the crucifix dangling from Sister Lucia’s neck, which seems to be floating mid-air. Something about it triggers a thought in her head, and then it clicks.

A Father. As in-

“Are there any Priests here?” she asks abruptly. “I’ve not seen any.”

“Not in the Hospital, as such. But there is a fellow, Father Horwick. He’s set up just outside the grounds, about half a mile northwest. There’s a tiny village there, not much of a place to live, if you ask me, but they manage. Stubborn lot. Funny you should ask…”

“Why’s that?”

“He was the one who brought the old brute here,” Sister Lucia replies, shaking her head. “It was ghastly.”

—–

It takes Rose nearly a week to figure out how to escape. Sneaking out of her room to visit the patient library is one thing. Breaking out of the Hospital altogether is a completely different task - monumental, given that she’s still assigned to the emergency isolation ward. Kilgrave wasn’t kidding when he said they took cases of Waste virus infections seriously.

There isn’t a single moment in each day when she’s alone. Sister Lucia watches her like a hawk, after the last incident. That’s a given. Kilgrave buzzes around like an annoying fly she can’t swat, insisting on taking her on walks around the hospital. He tries to hold her hand, but she won’t let him have his way.

“What’s the point of this?” she asks, for the millionth time.

“I told you already,” he replies. “We must keep up appearances, darling.”

“Don’t call me that.”

He smiles. “Let me hold your hand, and I won’t.”

She pockets a couple of extra strength laxative patches from a sleeping nun they walk past and slaps it on her wrist that night. Kilgrave is barred from his daily visit the next day, because Rose is severely dehydrated and needs to be put on an IV machine. It’s worth it.

—–

Her gut churns as she waits for Sister Lucia to go on her evening Prayer break. Rose imagines there’s a palpable air of piety that suffuses the entire Hospital in the reserved hour. She pretends to be asleep. Sister Lucia leaves her all-pass on the medicine tray, as she always does, in case the rotating attendant needs access to Rose’s medication.

It’s not too difficult to break free. She pulls on a dressing gown, slips out, and finds her way to an elevator bank. There’s a service corridor two metres from the main lobby. She’s not sure where it leads, but in her experience, staff always have ways of coming and going that are infinitely more suited to unobserved exits. Along the way she acquires a spare Nurse’s habit.

_Look at that,_ the Doctor’s voice says in her head, sounding proud. _Rose, you’re a natural._

As it turns out, ‘just outside the Hospital grounds’ is an approximate estimate. Rose takes a gamble on which direction ‘northwest’ might be, and it pays off. The half-mile is a gross misunder-representation on Sister Lucia’s behalf - maybe if the journey didn’t include climbing up a steep hill while navigating rocky outcrops.

It’s hard going, reaching the little village atop the hill. Although the villagers stop and stare, no one approaches Rose. The church is easy to find. It doesn’t look anything like any church Rose has ever known, but the big, eye-catching cross affixed to the sloping roof of the slate grey conical building is a telltale sign.

A group of young men sit in front, reading from thick, paper bibles. It’s the first time she’s seen paper in this world. It feels strange.

“Father Horwick? He’s in the courtyard,” one of them says eagerly, a slim, gangly youth with an easy smile. “I’ll take you.”

—–

She’s girded herself against disappointment despite what she said to Malcolm, but the blow of it takes her by surprise anyway.

“He left six months ago,” Father Horwick says, regretfully. “Took his companion with him - her name escapes me now, but a lovely woman, very spirited. Red hair.”

He’s found someone else. A redhead to boot. _I’ve always wanted to be ginger._

“I’m sorry, my dear. The Doctor did so much for us. If there was ever any way to repay him…”

“He doesn’t want repaying,” Rose says softly.

“Yes,” agrees Father Horwick. “That’s what makes him so remarkable. Men of his ilk are rare.”

_One and only,_ Rose thinks. _The last of his kind._

A breeze ruffles her hair. Rose asks, for the hell of it, “Do you know where they went?”

“They seemed keen on looking for a book to read,” says the Priest, with a helpless shrug. “Perhaps they went to visit a-”

“There you are,” says a voice in the courtyard behind her, interrupting the Priest mid-sentence.

Father Horwick looks past her, and his eyes go wide with surprise. He gets to his feet, mouth falling open, and Rose knows exactly what - or who - she’ll see if she turns around.

So she does the only thing she can think of doing. She stands up, too, and moves to block his view. “Thank you, Father.”

“You-”

“I’m so sorry about this-” says Rose, and gives the old man a hard shove backwards, sending him sprawling over the table. Father Horwick gives a shocked cry as Rose turns on her heel and makes a run for it through the gate.  


	6. Chapter 6

_Don’t tip him off._

The path down the hillside is rocky and uneven. Rose stumbles every few steps, but she ignores the dangerous terrain and runs as fast as she can. Break an ankle, break a wrist, she doesn’t care. Kilgrave gives chase, of course. His leg may be out of the cast, but he still hasn’t recovered full use of it. She can hear him clumsily trailing her, cursing, shouting her name. A loud thump tells her he’s tripped and fallen.

He growls, “This is juvenile!”

Rose whirls around and almost wants to laughs at the sight. Kilgrave’s on the ground. He’s fallen flat on his face. She yells, “Break the other leg?”

He furiously spits out grass, and mouths a word she pretends not to hear. Rose doesn’t wait for him to collect himself, she sprints off once more.

He’s clumsy, but he’s determined. She’ll give him that. Over her shoulder, she shouts, “How’d you find me?”  

“Patient tracking devices,” Kilgrave shouts back, already short of breath, “Implanted into the skin under your wrist. A tiny little chip, so tiny you’d never notice-”

Rose scrambles around a bend in the footpath, narrowly avoiding a boulder. Her headstart begins to wane as he gets used to the physical exertion and starts to close in on her. His longer legs give him a distinct advantage, allowing him to climb over the large rock without breaking hard-earned speed. The sight sparks a visual memory, an image of the Doctor doing the same thing on a different planet in a different time; turning back to hold out his hand towards her, telling her to _run._

_Not now,_ she tells herself.

The parish is long out of sight, and they’re well beyond the boundaries of the village. The wasteland stretches out in front of Rose, and she slows to a stop. It’s far enough, he’s thoroughly distracted.

“That- was-,” Kilgrave stops, as well, panting heavily, “-futile!”

“You should exercise more,” she remarks flippantly, just to annoy him, really.

He ignores the comment, glaring at her. “And a _colossal_ waste of time!”

It’s worth it to see him doubled over with a stitch in his side. Kilgrave looks at her accusingly. “I can’t believe you ditched me! Just - gone! That’s rather cruel, don’t you think, after everything you’ve put me through?”

“I haven’t done anything to you.”

“Oh, I beg to differ.”

“How did you know I was missing?”

A smile tips the corner of his mouth. “I’ve got eyes on you. Spies are easy to come by. No one questions it when a concerned husband asks his wife’s hospital attendants to keep him informed of her whereabouts.”

_Bastard._

“Anyway, when I couldn’t find you, I raised the alarm. They dispatched a search team immediately, afraid your infection might spread across the Hospital if you were allowed to wander about. They’re very paranoid about this waste virus, aren’t they? Makes people go mad, apparently, if left untreated. When they realised you left the premises completely they were convinced you’d lost your mind.”

He stares at her, eyes narrowing. “ _Have_ you lost your mind?”

Rose shrugs.

“I wouldn’t have thought you’d leave. Not without-”

He cuts himself off, studying her closely. There’s disquiet in his expression, the first fissure in his self-invented charade. Surely he doesn’t think she’s attached to him? No, she realises, he means she wouldn’t leave without the broken dimension cannon he stole from her.  

“You barely know me,” she says, hoping fuel whatever doubts he’s entertaining about her. “I may be insane. I believe in time travel and aliens.”

For some reason, that makes him laugh. It unnerves her. “What?”

“You’re not insane,” Kilgrave says, all sense of self-doubt gone.

“How do you know?”

“It’s in your eyes. Very fine eyes they are, too. They’re filled with purpose. Sometimes… longing. Insanity doesn’t look like that.”

A shiver runs down her spine.

“Besides,” he says blithely, “I believe in aliens. And time-travel, too. I’m living proof of the latter.”

_So am I_ , Rose thinks.

“Ah,” he says, peering over his own shoulder into the hazy distance. “Someone’s coming. It must be the rest of your search party. Perfect timing. Try to look ill. You should lie down. I could cradle you in my arms, it’ll look absolutely-”

He breaks off, the colour draining from his face, suddenly. “Shite.”

“What?”

“Shite,” Kilgrave says again, “Sodding fucking shite! That’s the wrong side - it’s the wrong bloody insignia!”

Rose stares at him, perplexed, her gaze travelling to the holo transport vehicle that zooms towards them. It’s a single-rider, with a red circle logo on the windshield.

“That’s the enemy,” he snaps, voice rising with panic. She wonders how he knows this - and realises all those library sessions of his had a reason, after all. He’s been researching. Learning how to survive.

“We were rescued by Zone 4, taken to their hospital, marked as _their_ refugees. We have their bloody markers _in our bodies_. We’re as good as dead-!”

Malcolm’s dimension cannon sits heavily in her pocket, secure in the lining of her stolen habit. _I could use it now. The Doctor isn’t here. I need to move on. I need to find him. I can leave, now, and let Kilgrave fend for himself._

But she can’t. It’s too late to run, anyway. The vehicle comes to a stop less than two hundred metres away. A soldier climbs out of the pit, boots clumping on the soil. He’s got a gun. A very large, very menacing gun. Without warning, he discharges his weapon, just once, into the air, as if testing its efficacy.

The blast is frighteningly thunderous. Rose freezes, desperately tries to think of what to do, how to get herself out of this situation.

She can’t think of a single thing, except to lift both hands up- “We surrender! Do you hear me? I said, we surrender!”

“That’s not going to work,” Kilgrave sneers.

The soldier lowers his gun, aims it directly at her chest, and approaches. There’s a moment’s pause. She thinks, _he’s going to shoot me in the heart. I’m going to die. Right now._

Behind her, dimly through the rush of blood and adrenaline and fear, she can hear Kilgrave shouting, “Stop! Stop!” over and over again.

_I’m sorry, Doctor._

“Don’t come any closer!”

The pain never comes. She waits. To her utter amazement, she realises the soldier has stopped in his tracks, gun hoisted mid-air.

“Don’t shoot!”

Seconds tick by.

A slow, gasping laugh of disbelief comes from Kilgrave. He says, slowly, with wonder and elation, “I did it. I bloody did it.”

Their eyes meet. Even through the relief, Rose’s blood runs cold in her veins.

“Drop your weapon,” says Kilgrave.

The soldier throws his gun to the ground with a loud thud. Rose watches, transfixed, as Kilgrave steps forward, his voice growing bolder, stronger.

“Remove your helmet. Pick up your gun again. Now. Go on.”

Rose’s heart hammers in her chest. No. He wouldn’t. Not just to prove-

“Put the nozzle in your mouth.”

He turns his head, slowly, to look back at her.

“Don’t,” Rose begs. “Please.”

Kilgrave doesn’t pause, his eyes never leaving her face. “Pull the trigger.”

The body hits the ground with a heavy thud.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Rose says, numb with shock. She stares straight ahead, doesn’t let herself look down at the smoking remains of the man Kilgrave has just killed.

“Yes, I did.”

“You _killed_ him!”

“Technically, he killed himself.”

“You-”

Kilgrave reaches for her. “We should leave. He might have friends nearby-”

“Don’t touch me!” She jerks back, pulling away from him, away from his ugly, disgusting existence.

“Don’t be dramatic.”

“You killed him!”

His face contorts. “Oh, come on. It was self-defense!”

“It was murder!”

“You almost had your chest blown up! I just saved your life, and this is the thanks I get?”

Kilgrave glares at her, outrage pouring from every pore. He’s _annoyed_ with her because she hasn’t shown gratitude for what he perceives to be a heroic deed on his behalf. She’s having trouble processing what has just happened.

Exasperated, he turns to the hovering vehicle, and asks, “How do we drive this thing?”

Rose swallows down her bile. “We can’t.”

“What do you mean, we can’t?”

“It’s programmed to only work for the driver it’s assigned to.” She recognizes the palm-activation pad. She’s tried hijacking one of these, in another dimension, and it didn’t work. “Can’t override the security feature.”

Kilgrave rolls his eyes. “Fine. We’ll have to walk back to the Hospital. You’re overdue for your next treatment, _darling_.”

His tone changes, slips back into the commanding voice he used earlier. There’s no doubt that this is an order. “Let’s go. Take my hand.”

_“No!”_

It’s a shock to them both, that one word coming out of her mouth.

He lowers his hand, surprise etched into his features. “What?”

“No.”

A horrible, horrible anger fills her. He’s just killed a man in front of her, and she watched him do it, helpless to stop him. She’s used to seeing death, but it never stops leaving her feeling sick. Kilgrave, though… Kilgrave doesn’t care. It doesn’t bother him.

“You’ve done it before,” she says slowly, realising his laissez-faire attitude can only come from habit. “Murdered someone.”

He’s not even listening. He stares at her, stunned. “I said, take my hand.”

She snarls, “Get away from me.”

“Oh no you don’t,” he says, mouth twisting. His fascinated surprise melts into rage, spitting and quick.  “Not after I have done everything I can to keep us together-”

The intensity of his outburst bewilders her. Shock muddles everything, makes her slow to react, slow to speak. Her brain feels sluggish, her thinking impaired. Rose manages, “Why?”

“Because you’re all I’ve got!” he shouts. “You think that this is easy for me? You think you have the moral upper hand? No, _you don’t,_ Rose Tyler. You stand there, calling me a murderer, but what that really boils down to is that I did what I had to do in order to _save your bloody life!”_

“That’s not an excuse.”

“It’s the sodding truth, and you know it. You don’t get to abandon me. Not after everything I’ve been through.”

“I wasn’t trying to.”

He snorts, a vicious sound, laced with hurt and indignation.

For a second - one tiny second - Rose feels guilty. Then she sees it, a glimmer of something, right before he turns away. The faintest look of satisfaction in his eyes. And she knows: _he’s playing me._ That entire speech, the _you’re all I’ve got_ and _I only killed to save you_ , that’s bullshit. She knows it is. He didn’t kill that man to save her. He did it because he could, because he wanted proof that his powers had come back.

“You’re not as good as you think you are,” she says slowly. “Barely had me.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Enough,” says Rose, and she knows what she has to do.

There’s a hermetically sealed cell in the basement at Torchwood HQ, and a team of scientists who will happily extract and dissect Kilgrave’s cells until they figure out what makes him tick. She reckons they’ll be able to trace back to the coordinates of this Universe, once she returns. If not Torchwood, then Professor Malcolm Taylor. He’s brilliant. He’ll figure out a way. Some more stars will go out in the meantime, but this is a detour she can’t put off any longer.

“Don’t worry,” says Rose, reaching inside her pocket. “I’m not leaving you.”

“That’s-” He’s cut off by the sound of distant engines. Three holo transports, identical to the abandoned one next to them, appear on the horizon.

“Told you he has friends,” Kilgrave mutters under his breath. “Stay quiet and let me handle this.”

In a matter of seconds the group is on them.

“Get out,” Kilgrave shouts over the din. “Turn off your engines. Hold fire and stop where where you are.” He pauses. “Put your guns to each other’s heads.”

Panic seizes Rose. Without thought, she bends down to the corpse lying at their feet, and picks up the discarded gun.

“Let them go,” she says, voice shaky. The weapon is heavier than it looks.

Kilgrave stiffens, but he doesn’t move. “Or what? You’ll shoot me?”

“I’m pointing a gun at your head.”

“Yes. I can see it in the shiny reflective surface of this fellow’s helmet.”

“Let them go,” she repeats.

“Your hands are shaking.”

“I’m less than two feet away. I’m not gonna miss.”

“Well, it was worth a try.” He turns, slowly, until he can see her out of the corner of one eye. His Adam’s apple bobs as he speaks. Calmly. Slowly. “You won’t shoot me.”

“Wanna bet on it?”

“Definitely. I’d throw in every last cent. You’re not a killer.”

“I’m going to count to ten,” she says, struggling to keep her voice even. “One.”

“Oh, please. You knew what I was, what I could do-”

“Two.”

“You could’ve let me die in that wasteland. But you didn’t-”

“Three.”

“Because you’re not the type. You do what’s right, no matter what-”

“Four.”

“-It’s refreshingly naive.”

“Five.”

“You are remarkable,” he says, shaking his head slightly. “Truly.”

“Six.”

“I’ve never met _anyone_ like you before-”

“Seven.”

“Beautiful, otherworldly, and exciting. There’s never a dull moment with you, is there, Rose Tyler?” He talks right over her _eight_ and _nine_. She has no idea what he’s going on about, or why he’s grinning like an idiot. He is certifiably insane. “My heart is literally racing. It’s beating so hard I can hear it roaring in my ears. Because of you.”

_“Ten.”_

He blurts, “They’d slaughter you in cold-blood without a second thought.”

She takes several slow steps, moving around until she’s standing in front of him, facing him, gun aimed at the center of his forehead. “Last chance. Them or you. Choose.”

“Is that what your Doctor does? Is that the moral maths at work? Kill one man, save two others, makes it all right?”

She feels like she’s been struck in the gut, all the wind knocked out of her sails.

“No holier-than-thou comeback? How disappointing.” There’s a touch of smugness in his voice. He thinks he’s won.

In her pocket, the dimension cannon prototype begins to vibrate. A familiar feeling begins to spread from where it lies in contact with her body, through the fabric of her stolen clothing. She drops the gun, utterly surprised, and reaches into her pocket to pull the device out.

Kilgrave hears the clatter of the gun hitting the ground and whirls around.

“No!” he shouts, eyes widening. “Don’t you dare!”

The world starts to fade. Kilgrave’s face twists into a mask of fury. The last thing she hears him roar is: “Shoot each other!”

Rose screams as gunshots ring out. She disappears, and the next thing she knows is a cold, hard floor. The breath is knocked right out of her already empty lungs. The end of her scream echoes in completely different air: sterile, cool, tinged with the faint scent of antiseptic…


End file.
